Red Threads of Betrayal

A few drops of wine spilled from Jean Young’s glass, and a flash of panic crossed her eyes.

“I don’t care if his last name is Cook or Johnson. If you lose, you hand over your phone.”

One of our best friends, Imogen Morgan, reached out to grab it, but Jean laughed and ducked right behind me, holding the phone tightly out of reach.

“You really can’t look at it. He’s got a huge temper. If he finds out I showed you guys his picture, he’ll be furious.”

“Look at you being so protective!”

“I can’t help it. His status is a bit complicated, and he doesn’t want to go public with our relationship just yet.”

As Jean spoke, her gaze drifted right over the crowd and landed on Jasper Cook, who was standing by the entrance.

The red thread connecting the two of them was blindingly bright. Over the years, I’d seen countless red threads of fate tangle and cross, but I never expected to see one attached to the man who was supposed to be my groom tomorrow.

“Aria, help me out here, won’t you?” she pleaded, giving me a cute, helpless look. “He really doesn’t want me showing it to anyone.”

I did everything I could to stop my wrist from trembling, set my glass down, and managed to force a smile.

“Rules are rules tonight. If you lose, you give up your phone.”

“Whoa!” Danielle Reed slapped the table. “The bride has spoken!”

Jean froze for a second, clearly not expecting me to back her into a corner like that.

Just then, Jasper walked over and rested his palm on my shoulder.

“Aria, stop messing around. Jean is shy. You’re the bride, so don't lead the pack in picking on the maid of honor.”

I stared down at the hand resting on my shoulder. Just last night, that same hand pulled my coat tight around me, wrapping me in a hug through the heavy fabric.

He swore to save the absolute best of himself for our wedding night. And yet, less than twenty-four hours later, he had his very first red thread tied to someone else.

“I’m picking on her?” I asked.

“Well, once you get stubborn about something, who can really handle you?” Jasper chuckled, picking up a glass of juice and handing it to me. “Pre-wedding anxiety is totally normal. Here, drink something sweet.”

Jean took the opportunity to shrink behind him. “See? Jasper gets me. Aria, you better not be so mean to him from now on. What if you scare off such a great guy?”

“Are you really that concerned about whether my fiancé gets scared off?”

“I’m just being concerned on your behalf!” Jean giggled, covering her mouth with her hand.

On her pinky finger sat a plain silver band. That ring was a discarded draft Jasper had once shown me. Back then, he told me the lines were too simple and not good enough for me.

Now, it sat on Jean’s finger, a perfect fit.

Before Jean could react, Imogen pinned her hand down and unlocked her phone.

“The more you try to hide it, the more we want to see!”

Imogen swiped open the first photo and let out a loud whistle.

It was a shot of Jean’s side profile. Her eyes were bloodshot, and starting right from her collarbone, a messy trail of hickeys snaked straight down into her top.

“Whoa, hold on!” Danielle shoved the phone right in front of us.

The second photo was a tight close-up of two hands intertwined, fingers locked together, practically oozing tension.

The man’s wrist bore a black-dial mechanical watch with a distinct scratch near the bottom right of the bezel. I knew that scratch all too well. Jasper had accidentally scraped it against a shopping cart while at the supermarket with me.

My fingernails dug deep into my palms.

Swiping further, it was a chat history.

The contact name was set to "J", and the profile picture was a simple patch of green grass. The chat was packed with daily good morning and good night texts, along with late-night voice calls.

The very first message dated all the way back to a year ago.

[Jean, I seriously can’t stop thinking about you.]

[I miss you too, J. I dreamed about you last night, holding me while we fell asleep.]

My breath hitched as my eyes caught a message from three months ago.

Jean had asked in a coy tone: [Tonight’s concert was amazing. But when can we hold hands out in the open like this for real?]

J replied with four words: [Soon. Wait for me.]

Three months ago on that exact day was our seventh anniversary.

I had spent two hours doing my makeup and cooked an entire table of food, waiting for him for five hours. In the end, all I got was a text. [Sorry, just finished working late. Go ahead and eat without me, then get some sleep.]

“Ah! Give it back! You guys are awful!” Jean squealed, snatching her phone back and jumping up. Flustered, she buried her face in her hands and darted off toward the stairwell.

Not even two minutes after she left, Jasper’s phone buzzed.

He glanced at the screen and immediately turned it face down.

“My mom wants me to book two more rooms. Some out-of-town relatives have just arrived. You girls enjoy yourselves, but don't keep my Aria up too late. She has to get up early for her makeup tomorrow.”

Jasper leaned down and kissed my forehead, prompting the whole room to hoot and cheer.

After he walked out, I excused myself to use the restroom.

Jean’s voice echoed from the stairwell, “Didn’t you say we weren't going to meet up tonight?”